Missing
by lilysunder8
Summary: Dean and Sam in prison. Six weeks is a lot of time to think. Takes place after 12x08 LOTUS. Rated T for a couple bad words. :O
1. Chapter 1

**So, this is my first supernatural fanfic. Any comments and criticisms are welcome! I'm thinking about making another one from Sam's POV, so if anyone wants something like that, please tell me! Thanks!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own spn. Or Dean. Or Sam. And if I tried to steal them, I'd probably end up where Dean is now, because I would not be able to stop myself from squeeing about it on tumblr and pinterest and twitter and my rooftop, and the cops would find me.**

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Dean missed his car.

Well, he missed a lot of things. Especially his car. But lots of other things, including, uh, his freedom. Yeah. 'Cause the moment they catch you exorcising Satan from the President of the United States - well, that's when your constitutional rights go out the window.

(Sam could probably recite the Constitution. Nerd.)

Dean missed his room, too. And pie. And food that wasn't prison food. So basically, food that was actually edible.

(Sam better be eating. The stupid giant tended to just... forget food when he was focused on other things.)

Dean missed hunting monsters.

Over the years, he had experienced doubt about the good he had done. Sam had once said that their job was not to kill supernatural beings, it was to hunt evil, and if something wasn't hurting people, then it wasn't evil. Of course, those words had hardly made sense to Dean at the time. In his experience, supernatural = evil. Simple. Yet since then, he had come to understand that someone's goodness was not determined by what they _were_ , but rather by what they _did._ After all, some supernatural creatures were innocent (like those freaky-ass Zanna... ugh), while some humans were horrible monsters.

Dean applied that rule to himself as well. And there had been times when his math had not added up to something complimentary. It had gotten especially bad after he took on the Mark of Cain.

But Sam... Sam was such a pain in the ass. The bitch. It was hard for Dean to understand how someone who had been through so much, someone who had been stalked by evil since years before his birth, someone whose goodness and hope had been crushed by said evil time and time again... how could a person like that _still_ see good in the world? In _any_ of the world? In _Dean_ , who had practically been a murderer at the time?

Then again, Sam had always been able to see goodness and hope in the world where Dean never could.

So maybe Dean had helped Amara and Chuck, so that no one had to sacrifice themselves, and no one had to grieve. And maybe it was okay that Dean needed his brother because his brother needed him too. And maybe Dean ganked a lot of evil supernatural sons of bitches and saved lives, and maybe that made a bit of a difference. Dean liked to believe that that made the world a better place.

So, yeah, Dean missed killing monsters.

Dean also missed Cas. He'd never had a lot of friends outside the family. But Cas _was_ family now, and it was... nice.

Dean wondered about his mom. Had she even noticed their absence? They played little games sometimes, and they texted every so often, but she was obviously upset about losing her old life, and maybe it would be a relief if her grown-up, _screwed-up,_ hunter sons lost contact.

Okay, there was clearly too much thinking going on in here.

Not like there was much else to do.

(Sam was probably meditating or doing yoga or some other geeky shit. It would be nice if he were here. Just so Dean could have someone to make fun of.)

Dean missed weird, smelly hotel rooms.

Wow.

And we've hit a new low.

He missed girls, too. There was nothing nice to look at in here. There were no other people here at all. Seriously.

Dean missed Jody and Alex and Claire and Donna and Garth (he had talked to Garth on the phone about two months ago; how that skinny little weirdo was still alive when so many other people in their lives had died was a complete mystery, but Dean was grateful... the dude was such a _dork,_ though. _Marmaduke?_ ).

It was a little weird, but he even kinda missed Crowley. His snark. Sam didn't like Crowley (understandably), and Dean didn't trust the slimey limey (ha-ha), but you had to admit, he had style.

Dean would give a lot of things (not everything, but a lot of things) to tell Sam that Crowley was a slimey limey, just so he could see his brother roll his eyes and give him a spectacular bitch-face, even as he tried to hide a smile.

It would be really nice if he could talk with Sam. Just for a bit, just to make sure that he was okay and that memories of the Cage weren't bothering him. At least he could be fairly certain that the US government wasn't torturing and/or killing Sam. Although, you never knew with their lives.

Dean didn't like to think about Sam's time in the Cage. It just made him massively, uncontrollably, uselessly angry. And other emotions which Dean had long ago accepted as inevitable whenever Sam was hurt or missing or whatever (which was way more than any older brother should ever have to deal with). But all those things... the anger and the worry and that stupid, freaking useless ache would overwhelm and suffocate him if he gave them any sort of free reign. So Dean shoved them down. Down, down, down, where the light of day would never reach.

Man, it was such a joy to be a Winchester.

Dean missed shaving. And haircuts. He was scruffy and itchy and uncomfortable. Sam probably looked ridiculous (well... Sam _always_ looked ridiculous, but that was a given).

Dean missed music. The silence in this place was getting to him. He was going crazy.

Dean missed sunlight and fresh air and exercise. He missed talking to people.

There were a lot of things Dean missed. Prison made you grateful for things. Weird things. Like alcohol and nice-smelling soap and Sam's bitch-face.

So, yeah, obviously they were gonna get out. Cas would get them out. Cas had gotten Dean out of hell, he would get them out of... wherever this was. And Dean would be glad to get back to all the things he missed.

But for now, he had to wait.

And think.

And miss.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sam's POV :D**

 **This one was a little heavier... Generally, I see Sam as the more hopeful of the duo, but he's also more serious and introspective and logic driven, so he's just flat out not as fun to write. :| Which is backwards, given that I'm actually a Sam-girl.** **¯\\_(ツ)_/¯**

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So this was prison.

Sam remembered a time in his life - although it felt like it had taken place several lifetimes ago and a few universes removed from his current predicament - when he had wanted to be the person putting criminals in here. A lawyer. It had seemed so lofty, so intellectual and admirable and _normal._ Dean and dad could put away the _monster_ monsters, and Sam could put away the _human_ monsters. That sort of life was still admirable, of course. Sam had met many humans who were much worse than some of their supernatural counterparts. But although that life still held nostalgic allure for Sam, he was at peace with his present job.

Sam liked hunting with Dean. Enjoyed it, even. The adrenalin rush of the fight, the thrill in putting down something evil, the joy and satisfaction in helping others, preventing tragedies like the one which had ripped apart his own family all those years ago.

And Sam needed Dean. It wasn't that he couldn't imagine life without his brother. Because he _could_ imagine that. He had been there, he had lived that, and he absolutely could not go back.

Prison was a sort of life without Dean. He wasn't dead (thank God... or maybe Amara, this time at least). But they weren't together. Sam remembered a conversation he'd had with Dean in which he apologized for giving up during the year Dean was in Purgatory:

"I've never forgiven myself for that."

And Dean had said, "Well, I have... All that matters, all that's _ever_ mattered, is that we're together. So shut up and drink your beer."

Of course, logically, statistically, it was actually surprising that this was only happening for the first time now. With the life they lived, by all rights, the Winchesters should have been permanently incarcerated (whether by human or supernatural means) _years_ ago. They had been trapped at times, but they had always squirmed their way out. If it hadn't been for Dean, Sam would still be in the Cage. And if it hadn't been for Castiel dragging Sam's soulless self out of the pit, Dean would have stayed with Lisa and Ben, and he would never have made the deal with Death to bring him back. Sam owed his life and freedom (and sanity) to Castiel and Dean.

Although their stay in this prison was proving to be longer than any captivity he had endured since the Cage, it wasn't really triggering any trauma. Truthfully, the experience bore hardly any resemblance to his stay in the Cage. Now his time with the British Men of Letters - that had been closer. Still, Sam didn't like to touch his memories of Lucifer and hell with a ten-foot pole, so he retreated from that line of thinking.

He was more worried about his brother, anyways. They lived lonely lives out of necessity, but Dean had always feared being alone. A familiar lump settled in Sam's gut, guilt so strong its presence manifested physically, as he thought of all the times he had left, all the times he had contributed to Dean's fear that everyone would abandon him. Now he _was_ alone, they both were, and Sam wished he could somehow project his presence to Dean and give them both some company.

Even though Sam had been the one to leave, to go to college, to pursue a family and an apple-pie life, Dean was the people person of the two of them. Over the years, Sam had become more introverted, more afraid of losing those he allowed into his life. The number of his friends and the group of people he depended on had shrunk, until his brother was more than enough to fulfill the roles of brother and work partner and best friend. He could imagine that Dean, who was funny and charming and charismatic and just _clicked_ with people, was suffocating from the loss of outside interactions.

As long as they were here, they were pretty much screwed. They had been finger-printed, and Sam knew that it would not take long to make the connection with the Winchester brothers who had been wanted by the FBI in 2008 and 2012. Never mind that they were reportedly dead two or three times over (not just reportedly; Sam allowed himself a moment of wry humor at that). Based purely on the serial killing sprees they had been credited with in 2012, it was not crazy to think that the death sentence was a foregone conclusion. Which was... depressing. He and Dean had made their mistakes, but they had also made the sacrifices and done the time to fix what they broke. It was hard to think that the people they had devoted their sweat, blood, and tears to keep safe wanted to execute them.

Sam wasn't terribly worried that they would succeed, though. Cas was out there somewhere, probably working on their rescue. Mary was most likely with him. Although Sam wasn't quite optimistic enough to hope that she had noticed their absence right away, he knew that she would do everything she could to free them (which was nothing to sniff at). After all, she had been raised by Samuel Campbell. Sam remembered the year his soulless self had spent with the grizzled hunter. The old man was strict, disciplined, and militaristic. He had no doubt raised his daughter to high standards of strategy and combat to rival the members of the Secret Service, and he had ingrained in her the value of family loyalty, regardless of personal feelings.

Additionally, he and Dean had wriggled their way out of much tighter spots before. Sam was confident enough in his and Dean's skill sets to know that it was only a matter of time before they extracted themselves from this dilemma as well.

In the meantime, the close confines of his cell were beginning to wear on him. He was already larger than the average human. He needed more space, plain and simple, and the stress of the situation was keeping him tense and sore.

Sam rubbed his temples and tried to relax, clearing his mind of thought and worry so that he would be loose and energized when the escape took place.

Time to plan for a prison break.


End file.
